


Drabbles for the Gays

by TheBirbiest



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: ALL OF THE SOFT, ALL OF THE STEAMS, And I'm not very good at it, Enjoy~!, Feeding the fandom, I haven't written smut in CENTURIES, M/M, Ruthari has stolen my soul, So much smut, They are just SO SOFT, all of the drabbles, but here i am, i dunno man, so much gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21752419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBirbiest/pseuds/TheBirbiest
Summary: I was thirsty for some content, but I'm terrible at writing anything other than drabbles SO-- Have yourself some drabbles. Chapters will be updated according to inspiration spurts so enjoy as they arrive! Lots of Viravos and lots of Ruthaari! Thanks so much.
Relationships: Runaan / Ethari, Ruthari - Relationship, Viravos - Relationship, Viren/Aaravos
Comments: 14
Kudos: 195





	1. Chapter 1

_“Ravish me, Aaravos.”_

The lips barely touched his own, the elf hanging over _his_ human with a smirk that stretched from one ear to the other. Four-fingered hands slid along the man’s bare chest; golden orbs meeting silver as they stayed like this. _Just a few moments longer._  
Completely nude. Completely relaxed.  
The elf straddling the other, hair draped around him, and freckles lighting up both of their faces.

“Is that what you want, _Viren?”_

His hands continued moving, tracing lines of muscle and bone along his upper torso. The human beneath him, so elegant and _mesmerizing,_ trembled against the touches; his own _five-fingered_ hands trailing lines along the Xadian’s back.

“...Y-Yes, I--”

_”You hesitated.”_

“I didn’t--”

Lips met the human’s, teeth gnashing against one another as passion rushed into his veins like a _fire._ His hands slipped away to press at either sides of his face, a tongue sliding over Viren’s lips. The man obliged willingly, mouth opening and tongues dancing together instantly. Soft moans echoed in the elf’s mouth, nails digging into his back. 

Emotions built between them. Intertwined and frantic and _hungry._ Unable to resist the heat building between his legs any longer, the elf slid further down his favorite human; lips continuing in their mission to _devour_ him as they slid away from plump lips, down to his neck. He nipped a trail of red marks down to the man’s chest, Viren’s fingers sliding into his hair to grip at the horns available to him. 

Aaravos released a low, thick moan in response, his body shivering against the touch that spread into his bones. His body _craved_ the touches. The rough tugging of his horns each and every time his lips brushed a sensitive spot on the mage’s chest. 

His hands reached down to spread the man’s thighs; head lifting away from his chest and a single hand darting off to the side to retrieve the bottle of _lube_ his companion was kind enough to find.  
Positioning himself between spread legs, the elf pulled away from the mage just long enough to uncap and spill the liquid into his hand. Smirking down at the other, watching him pant heavily, hungry, silver orbs never leaving him, the Xadian was nearly convinced to pounce on him again. Take his lips and _never_ let them go. Not until the human was breathless, close to the brink of suffocation, and _filled_ with his love.

Thankfully, he supposed, there were _other_ means of achieving such goals.

Reaching down to the human’s erect dick, Aaravos gave it a hurried pump. The _gasp_ it elicited from the other, strangled against a moan that followed, was unlike anything he’d ever heard. It was breathtaking, _intoxicating._ It pushed the elf to give him another pump, watching the man as he tilted his head back with another gasp; hips bucking into the hand. He chuckled deeply, purring out gently, _”It appears you haven’t been touched in a while.”_

“Shut. _Up.”_ The bite comes at the cusp of another moan.

Urged by such _positive_ displays of affection, the elf leans forward - adding an extra layer of lube to his own erection. Biting back on the moan that grows in the back of his throat, he pushes his hips forward and meets Viren’s heated form. His smile quivers with the rush of adrenaline that _begs_ to be heard. To be _obeyed._

Fingers slip away from his partner’s dick, only to wrap around his own and bring both members together. Biting down on his lip, heart _pounding_ in response to the moan leaving Viren (so guttural, so _raw)_ he worked his wrist into steady movements. Pumping both erections simultaneously, moans were echoed and mirrored in the pair of lovers; the human’s hips rocking to meet each and every rise and fall of the elf’s wrist.  
As adrenaline rose in each body, hearts racing, veins _throbbing,_ precum spilling freely, the mage released a particularly _desperate_ moan. His hips jerked forward, settling back onto the sheets with a shaky breath. 

_”Aaravos--_ **please!”**

It was exactly what he needed. What he _wanted_ to hear from the naturally uptight man. The very same man so _insistent_ on burying any and all of his desires under the smug, callous attitude he wore so well. 

Licking his lips with the admittance of eager anticipation, Aaravos pulled his hand away - _his_ human giving a wanton sigh of relief. Giving _himself_ a few extra pumps, he positioned himself at the other’s entrance, golden orbs flicking to meet silver. 

He was beautiful like this. Face flushed, sweat beading along his shoulders and neck. Eyes hungry and needy. If he could have Viren like this every day, he would. No one wore such innocence, such _desire_ the way he did. It made it all the easier to push forward, a brief squeeze of the man’s thigh given as a warning.

Viren reacted instantly, hands twisting into the sheets as eyes darted for the ceiling. He groaned aloud, teeth biting down on his lip. Muscles tensed around the sudden, although very much wanted, intrusion of _Aaravos._  
Everything was suddenly twice as hot, pressure building and daring to split him apart. He heard the soft command to “breathe,” the man trying to do just that as the thick cock filled him completely - a soft sigh spilling from his lips as the elf stopped moving.

A hand slid against his cheek, the elf murmuring softly, _”You are radiant.”_

He turns his attention toward him; glowing, freckled face looming over him as their bodies warmed against one another. Relaxed when wrapped around the other. His own hands moved forward, sliding along the indigo face and tracing light fingers over his cheekbones. He watched the other smile, a soft, sincere smile meant _only_ for him. Meant _only_ for this moment. Right here. Right now.

Aaravos lifted a hand to his human’s, pulling it away to offer soft kisses to the knuckles. 

“We’re going to start now,” he whispers softly, watching the doubt flicker across the man’s face. “I want to _hear you,_ Viren. Every last sound… _let me hear it.”_

The mage opens his mouth to respond, but a moan takes the place of words - the elf having acted on his promise and pulling himself from the other, only to slam back in. He repeats the process, slowly, the man beneath him clawing at his back desperately, moans spilling free into the air. It is only _after_ this same man slides his hands to the back of his head, hair tangling within fists, that Aaravos picks up speed. He crashes into his human, skin slapping against skin, his thrusts growing _hungrier_ by the second; moans spilling into the room. 

Viren pants heavily, his hands never leaving the elf as his legs wrapped around his waist. Crying out desperately, frantically, his head thrown back as ecstasy controls him, he loses himself to the emotions that take hold. All of them _weeping_ for the elf moving above him. The very same elf that made Viren feel special. Made him feel _wanted_ and **loved.**

This was no different. Even as they moved, they moved as one. Even as they moaned, they did so together. Each of their desires and hungers were being met, _together._ Every thrust, every new wave of heat that coiled in his gut, was a direct message of love. A silent understanding that right now, in this moment, they went beyond any other commitment of love. Right now, right here, they were of mind, soul, _and_ body. Love expressed through moans, understanding expressed through steady, powerful thrusts, compassion expressed through the hands that grabbed at one another. 

“O-Oh, _Aaravos!”_

The cry came suddenly, white spots eating at the man’s vision. The heat in his gut exploded out to his limbs, numbing each and every nerve. Silencing his mind. Nothing but the sounds of skin on skin, the elf’s heavy breathing, his _moans_ echoing around him in a cacophony of _bliss._

“Oh yes, right there!” 

The heat rose against his skin, pressed against him, _begging_ for release. The elf’s thrusts grew faster, _harsher,_ a loud, low rumble bubbling from between his smirking lips. He had his human right where he wanted him; _begging_ for a relief that only _he_ could provide.  
Viren’s hand drops away from the tangled, white hair and dives for his own erection. He pumps at it rapidly, desperately, the elf continuing his own rhythms and taking _pride_ in watching the display beneath him. 

“O-Oh! Aara--!” 

The ecstasy overwhelms him, his eyes snapping shut as his climax spurts across both of their chests. A loud, elongated moan rolls from his lungs. His back arches, muscles tensing around Aaravos, the moan twisting into cries as the thrusting continues. 

“Don’t-- _don’t stop.”_ He begs, the bundle of nerves repeatedly reached and eliciting moan after moan from him. 

It isn’t long after that Aaravos, too, follows him in his climax; hot cum spilling into his ass just as the elf’s own moan follows suit. Sparkling body brightens with the heated actions, but several more thrusts finish him off - freckles dimming slowly. 

Both chests heave in frantic breaths, neither one seeming capable of catching their breath. The Xadian takes this moment to lean down and overlap his lips with his _lover’s._ The kiss is soft, _wanting_ but no longer _hungry._ They part slowly, Aaravos leaning his forehead against the other’s. Their trembling bodies remain in that moment, eyes on one another, ecstasy spilling from their veins and wrapping them in a web of _belonging._

_”Aaravos,”_ the man breathes, running a trembling hand along his cheek. “You are _mine.”_

The “confession,” of sorts, pulls a laugh from the elf. He leans down for another kiss, this one deeper, more passionate than their last. He pulls away slowly, admiring the man he’d fallen so deeply in love with. The man who’s temper and grumpy attitude could be so easily brushed aside with but a single compliment. A single moment of apprecation. _One kiss._

Running his own hand along the hot, sweaty chest of the other, he leans down to Viren’s ear. Giving the earlobe a playful nibble, he murmurs softly: 

_”And you are **mine,** Viren.”_

A single confession. 

A shared expression of emotions. 

A bond of _love_ that would connect them _for an eternity._


	2. Stay For A While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not nearly as explicit as the previous chapter. Just a soft drabble about how Runaan meets and falls in love with the thicc blacksmith of the Silvergrove, Ethari.

**Ethari** was his name. The soft spoken, seemingly _harmless_ elf responsible for _embarrassing him_ in front of every one of his partners. 

They had been mere moments from leaving the Silvergrove, all running through the mission details a final time. A plan was set, positions were assigned - all that remained was getting to the destination and completing the job. It was standard routine, really, and one that Runaan took pride in. He was good at it. Talented, even. It was no surprise that he became the leader of their little team, and no less surprising that he took the role very seriously.

Thus, when Ethari, a well-known _{because the Silvergrove only had **one}**_ blacksmith that was highly praised for his skill, approached the assassins with a wide smile and a wrapped package in his hands, Runaan took it with the utmost grace. Thanking him, but inquiring about its contents; the shorter of the Xadians simply replying, _“It’s a gift. Saw you strugglin’ with that thing on your back. Thought I could help.”_

The _“thing”_ in question being a bow that the _elegant-leader-of-assassins_ handcrafted himself. Admitted it wasn’t the most... _appealing_ piece of weaponry, but it got the job done and that was all that mattered. Implying that he were struggling with it was simply... _not--_ **true.** Runaan trained most of his life with a bow. It was another piece of him. It was a skill that he was highly praised on and now, this blacksmith dared to take that away from him? Undermine him and his work?

It was with a furrowed brow, an annoyed glare, and a pout that he finally opened the package. The other elves surrounding him stepped closer, peering their heads in whatever direction guaranteed them a better view.

An immediate silence fell over them, every pair of eyes now scanning the weapon held delicately in their leader’s hands; a hushed awe overcoming him. Runaan ran a hand down one of the limbs, fingers smoothing over each and every groove. Every carving. It was beautiful. It was wonderfully unique. Not just a bow by any means, but a perfectly constructed bowblade.

“Much better than that old thing, don’tcha think?”

The blacksmith pointed to the bow still hanging from his back, a smile spreading wide across his face. Runaan gave him a pointed look, lifting a single brow.

“Thought’cha might do better with one of them. More suited to ya. Anyway, good luck on yer mission.”

He turned on his heel, leaving without saying another word. Without so much as a single glance behind him.

The assassins stood huddled around the piece of art, eyes aglow at seeing something new. Something handcrafted into an item of mastery. It stole their leader’s breath away. Left him speechless for a _much_ longer amount of time than he liked. It was only _after_ one his teammates labelled the action as a random bout of “kindness” that Runaan breathed anew. Snapping himself out of his shock, shunting the bow off his back and replacing it with the new weapon, the elf strode forward and regained his composure. Centered himself back around to the mission and the importance of their duties.

Upon using the weapon and praising it _{internally}_ for its natural ability to perfectly compliment him and his fighting style, he was filled with a frustration that clung to his chest. It captured his very soul in a vice grip, making the Xadian rather insufferable through the remainder of the mission. 

No one simply gave a gift without expecting one in return. And if, by some rare occurrence, the blacksmith wasn’t expecting a gift in return-- then Runaan would appear at his doorstep with one regardless. One that blew his own gift out of the water and made him feel like an idiot for having ever extended a hand of kindness toward him.

Yes, that... _that sounded right._

Thus, several days after the start of his mission and several days _after_ his return, Runaan stood at the door of the Silvergrove’s finest _{and only}_ blacksmith; **Ethari.** With gift in hand - a wrapped, smaller box light enough to be held with one hand - the assassin lifted a fist to the door; knocking against it three times. 

Waiting patiently for said door to open, he fidgeted awkwardly where he stood. This was nothing more than a meeting, an exchange, a means of returning a favor so that he owed this elf _nothing._ He would hand over his gift, say his goodbyes, and be done with all of this. All of the thoughts that drifted to him, the emotions that aroused themselves upon hearing his name, the memories of his smile and voice and the way he--

“...Runaan?”

Turquoise orbs lift from the box in his hand, words sticking in his throat as soon as he locked onto the sweaty, shirtless blacksmith in front of him. The smile he receives in return sends heat rushing to his face immediately.

“Sorry. Wasn’t expectin’ company.”

Soft, brown eyes lower to the item in the assassin’s hand. Runaan instinctively tenses, opening his mouth to speak, but Ethari is much too quick.

“Oh. How’d ya know it was my birthday?”

**Oh.** _Oh no,_ this was horrible. Everything was going wrong. Horribly, embarrassingly wrong. Why did he have to-- _look like that?_ Why did his voice have to be so smooth and so gentle? Why did his birthday have to fall on a day that should have been filled with spite and an end to the ever weighing guilt of a gift?!

“I...uhm...”

But...no. That couldn’t be right. The Moonshadow was joking. Pulling his leg. Ethari’s birthday had been last week, hadn’t it? He remembered overhearing an elf or two mentioning it.

Scoffing aloud, the taller of the two rolled his eyes and straightened his shoulders; Ethari releasing a small chuckle at the obvious display of feigned confidence.

“...Today is _not_ your birthday.” Runaan breathes, pursing his lips together.

“Ah, well...” Ethari trails off, nodding his head slowly and giving the comment pause before continuing. _“I_ knew that, but how did _you_ know that?”

“I...w-well...”

The heat returned to his cheeks in full force, the blacksmith releasing a warm, boisterous laugh as he steps back into his home. Extending a hand, he attempts to speak through his laughter:

“Please, c’mon in.”

Hesitating for the briefest of moments, the assassin exhales deeply before opting to enter the humble abode. Ethari shuts the door behind them, padding further into the room and nudging his chin toward a nearby table.

“Yer welcome to take a seat. Can make us some tea or--”

_“I’ve brought you something.”_

He needed to end this. Stop this form of familiarity before it got out of hand. Before the pounding heart in his chest burst from his ribcage and spilled over his lips. If he could just...give the gift away, say his adieu’s, and never have to _think_ about the perfectly toned backside in front of him again-- he could _{possibly}_ leave the rest of his days in peace.

The blacksmith turns around, smile still in place even as the assassin continues to glare. 

“Don’t...don’t you wish to open it?”

Runaan holds out the box, watching the other admire it quietly. The heat at his face is quickly spreading to his ears, even before the frustratingly gentle elf replies:

“If I open it...will you stay a while? I’ve got dinner cookin’ and I don’t think I can eat it all.”

His heart is in his very veins now; pounding erratically. Sending his mind racing and overpowering any control he may have had left. Swallowing hard, the assassin nods slowly.

“...Yes, that...I can do that.”

“Good,” soft hands remove the package from Runaan’s sweating pair. “Then let’s see what we have, eh?”

Standing awkwardly beside him, the assassin keeps his eyes on the blacksmith as he steps over to the nearby table. Laying the small box down and working delicate fingers at the bow on top; the process is nearly painful. 

It wasn’t much of a gift and he knew that, but it was handcrafted - exactly as Ethari’s was. He needed a gift of equal or greater value; perfectly severing whatever sort of debt the other had tried to put him into. A debt of emotions and heavy thoughts; all of which Runaan did not wish for, but yet, somehow, found to be more persistent when in the Moonshadow’s presence. 

There was simply something about the way he moved. The way he spoke to everyone in their community. He was resplendent in every turn of his body. Every blink of an eye. Every soft word that ever graced the light of day. He was--

_“Oh, Runaan...”_

The voice breaks him away, focus returned to the blacksmith in front of him; eyes suddenly wide and jaw hung open. Ethari lifts from the box a violet cloth, a scarf, hand-stitched to perfection and made from the finest fabrics this side of the border could offer. It’s plain in the sense that it’s not decorated in symbols or ornate designs, but the assassin felt that it would do its job. It would symbolize the end of something that never existed and--

_“It’s beautiful.”_

The words leave him frozen; eyes staring at the beautiful sight in front of him. The way this blacksmith, so strong and powerful, caresses it as though it were a newborn. Presses it gently between his fingers and against his face and smiles at it as though he’s never seen anything like it before. Its a reaction that strips away any other reason for Runaan’s coming here aside from seeing this wonderful, addictive elf. 

Their eyes meet in that moment and he swears he’ll never be the same again. Feels the stars align and the moon’s glow as their hearts connect on levels he’s never known before. 

In this very moment, words spoken silently between them, _they are one in the same._

Ethari starts to wrap the scarf around his neck, smile stretching from ear to ear. Runaan watches him, eyes never leaving him. Not for a second.

“You’ll stay a while, won’t you? Let me treat you to dinner?”

Their eyes meet a second and final time; the meaning behind such words clear as day. Runaan swallows hard, clasping his hands behind his back and flicking his gaze from the scarf, to the beautiful face in front of him. The eyes gazing deep into his soul; holding it close and keeping it safe. Protected. _Loved._

“...Yes, I... _I’d rather like that,_ thank you.”


End file.
